Shopping on Oxford Street
by Alixtii
Summary: Why can't Dawn and her Slayer, Beatrice DeCosta, just have a normal vacation in London?


Dawn and Beatrice had just walked out of a chique Oxford Street boutique when suddenly Beatrice tackled Dawn. Dawn fell to the ground, the Slayer's body pressed on top of her, shielding her, even as the sounds of gunfire began to ring out. Dawn instinctively went for the handgun in her purse, but Beatrice grabbed her hand.

"They're not aiming at us," she whispered.

Dawn turned her head and saw that the Slayer was right—there was a veritable shoot-out going on right there on Oxford Street. And they said they didn't have guns in Britain.

Dawn looked more closely at one of the shooters. He looked human, but Dawn could notice the fiery redness of his eyes and the almost unnoticeable blue tinge to his skin. An R'sk demon. Dawn swore. It was mating season, but did they have to get into territory battles in the middle of the Central London shopping district?

And then it clicked. _The British Museum_. Shit.

"We need to get out of here," Dawn whispered to Beatrice, then looked around. This was London, land of no street parking and no street shoulders, so there really wasn't anywhere they could take refuge. The Council offices were only a few blocks down (a block away from the museum itself), but there was no way to get there.

Well, there was _one_ way.

"Hold on," Dawn said despite the fact that Beatrice's body was already pressed against her own, straddling her. "I'm going to teleport."

"Do you think that is a good idea?" Beatrice asked her.

"No," Dawn answered honestly. Teleportation—of one body, let alone two—was difficult even for experienced witches; it had pretty much knocked Dawn unconscious every single time _she_ had tried it. "But we don't have a choice. When we get there, tell them to mobilize all the London Slayers, get them to the British Museum. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good." Dawn took a deep breath and began to concentrate on the mystical energies. Why did she always end up in situations like this? She was a Watcher, not a witch.

"_Discedere._"

* * *

  
They rematerialized in the familiar offices of 99 Great Russell Street, with Dawn still underneath Beatrice. The Slayer got up, and watched as a male Watcher quickly rushed to Dawn's side. She was unconscious, of course, drained by the magnitude of the spell she had cast.

"Oxford Street and Tottenheim Court Road," Beatrice reported, wishing that her Italian accent was less thick. "The demons shoot."

A female Watcher nodded. "We're receiving reports of shoot-outs from all over the West End."

"Miss Chalmers," a young man at a desk called out, "the Prime Minister is on the phone."

"Tell him to wait," the woman answered. "Say that we're working on it."

"Dawn was afraid for the British Museum," Beatrice said. "She wanted the Slayers—mobilized?" The last word was unfamiliar to her, but she assumed it meant they were supposed to move.

"You heard Miss Summers' order," Miss Chalmers snapped at the gathered Watchers. "I want those Slayers at the museum ASAP." Quickly, they turned away and began making phone calls.

"Probably worried about the Hestrii egg," Miss Chalmers said, but it seemed she was talking more to herself than to Beatrice. "How is she, Reginald?"

"Physically, she's fine," the young man who had been examining Dawn answered. "She's just weakened from the spell. Do you want me to get the smelling salts?"

"No," Miss Chalmers answered. "She needs to regain her strength."

"Ma'am," the man from before called out, "the Prime Minister is still on the line."

Chalmers sighed. "Very well, Oliver." She picked up the phone and began explaining the situation. She glanced back and saw Beatrice, and then placed her hand on top of the phone's receiver. "Why don't you run and help the other Slayers at the museum?" she suggested, in the tone of voice that made it very clear that it _wasn't_ a suggestion. "I think we have it handled here."

Beatrice nodded and began to make her way out of the Council offices. Why was it that whenever she and Dawn went shopping, something like this was always sure to occur?  



End file.
